


Muddled

by Rubynye



Category: DC Comics
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's ridiculous, and they're both drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muddled

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Hot, Hard, and Up Against The Wall Challenge](http://wallsmut.livejournal.com/408.html): the submitted stories are listed here: <http://wallsmut.livejournal.com/826.html>
> 
> Warnings: slash, drunkenness, crossdressing, unorthodox story progression.  
> Spoilers For/Based On: nothing at all  
> Thanks to: [](http://sageness.livejournal.com/profile)[**sageness**](http://sageness.livejournal.com/) and [](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/profile)[**brown_betty**](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/) for looking this over.
> 
>  
> 
> This is a muddler: <http://www.goodcocktails.com/bartending/equipment.php#muddler>

Title: Muddled  
Fandom: DC Comics  
Rating: R  
Summary: It's ridiculous, and they're both drunk.   
Pairings: Nightwing/Robin III (aka, Dick/Tim)

Dick's having a hard time unlocking his door, considering that he's a little bit sloshed and balanced on one leg. His other foot's off the floor because Tim's ankle is hooked around it; Tim is tangled all along his side, smelling like sweet alcohol and perfume, swinging those ridiculous red heels in one hand and running the fingers of the other up and down the back of Dick's neck.

It isn't helping that Dick's laughing helplessly. Tim is staring at him with that Tim-centration and stroking the back of his neck slowly and lightly enough to make him shiver, damp and warm in a strappy little red dress along his side. Whenever Dick breathes a little harder he can feel Tim's heat as if his jacket and shirt and jeans aren't there.

It's ridiculous, and they're both drunk. He misses the lock again, and breaks into a fresh peal of laughter. Tim 'hmms' like he's considering a complicated booby-trap and leans forward to drag his lips along Dick's cheek, and Dick abruptly can't breathe to laugh. And the door's still not opening. "Tim---" Is humming under his breath, and nuzzling Dick's jaw, and burying his fingers in Dick's hair. "Timbo?"

"Mmm?" Tim is heavy and pliant against Dick's side. The door finally opens, and they fall through it, spinning, almost stumbling. Dick tries to kick the door shut and finds himself shutting it with his ass as a double-armful of Tim presses him against it; Dick thumps into the door, and Tim's shoes hit the far wall, and he has to laugh again.

"You're drunk," he accuses Tim, trying to cup his shoulders to hold him up, not grope him.

Tim shoves his face into Dick's neck. His "Probably," makes Dick's skin buzz. His hands are moving, one across Dick's chest, one petting through his hair. Tim's hands are strong and hot, short square nails polished pink to match his shiny pink mouth; Dick's skin tingles under them, and he really wants to tip Tim's chin up and kiss him.

He recites the litany to himself a few more times. Tim's drunk, and he's drunk, and he's gotten to the part about how they need water and aspirin and bed when Tim, shifting his hips in a _really distracting_ way, suddenly winces away, then reaches into Dick's pocket, moving with a tipsy fluidity that's still fast for anyone who's not them, and pulls out a muddler.

Dick shouts with laughter, his head thunking back against the door. The muddler still has green flecks of mint on the end, and a row of tooth-dents in the side, and it's the funniest thing ever.

Tim blinks at him. "You put it in your pocket. After you improvised with it."

"What?" Dick is giggling. Grown men don't giggle. He takes a cool calming breath, and focuses on Tim's face. Tim's still got lipstick on his mouth, smeared across onto his cheek, and his hairband's askew; it's like the fake girl is melting off, revealing the real guy underneath. "I didn't have my sticks, and it's not like I can use it in the bar afterwards. Besides, _you_ put your shoes back on."

"That's different. Thelma would... she'd wear her shoes." Tim blinks slowly, eyes heavy-lidded. Dick should totally get him to bed. And then sleep on the couch.

"Whatever, Timbo." Dick hiccups. Damn whiskey. "Shoes or no shoes, Thelma was the belle of the bar after she creamed the thugs and Bludhaven's Finest crawled back out from under my barstools." In response Tim just shrugs a little. He's still petting Dick, and the damp silkiness of his dress makes Dick shiver as he strokes down the ridge of Tim's spine. Tim blinks slowly, blue eyes both pale and blown under his thickly mascara-coated eyelashes. The level of detail... "Damn, little brother." It's just falsies against Dick's chest, and he can see the real Tim through the remnants of 'Thelma', but... "You make an incredible girl."

Dick chokes. Did he just _say_ that? But Tim smiles. Wide and unguarded like he never smiles. And he stands on his toes-- not so far anymore-- and kisses Dick while Dick's still gaping at him. Dick's drunk, he knows he's drunk, and so is Tim, after everything the cops bought them after the baby-faced bartender and a petite girl saved all their off-duty asses. He shouldn't part his lips over Tim's, or spread his hands out over the small of Tim's back. But he does.

And Tim pushes up into him, and kisses him, petting hands sliding up around Dick's neck, into his hair. Tim's tongue is in his mouth, sweet with rum and fruit juice, and Tim's arms are strong around his neck, and Dick has his hands full of Tim's narrow hips as he hitches him up; Tim's legs wrap around his waist, and when did they get turned around? He's pressing Tim into the wall, Tim's lashes are brushing his cheek, and Dick's head is hazed with alcohol vapors and Tim's kisses and how hard he is against the zipper of his jeans.

Hard--- Tim has to be hard, and he has to be taped, and it must be killing him. Dick pulls his mouth away, and it's like tearing something apart for the millisecond before Tim's mouth lands on his jaw. "God, oh, Tim, oh God," Dick groans, forehead pressed to the cool smooth wall, Tim's lips hot on his skin. "Tim, let, let go. For a sec. Let go."

Tim kisses harder. And then stiffens all over, and lets go, and both his legs fall away from around Dick's waist. "Just a sec," Dick mumbles reassuringly against Tim's hair, as h pulls the hairband out and drops it. He meant to let go, too, but he can't; he runs his hands down Tim's flushed cheeks and the cords of his neck, across the straps on his shoulders and the breasts he doesn't have, while Tim trembles under the touch. Dick opens his eyes--- he can't remember when he shut them--- and Tim is staring at him, focused as ever, all Tim. And he smiles, lips shiny pink and narrow under smeared lipstick.

Dick has to kiss that smile, like he has to breathe. He licks gloss and sugar off Tim's lips till he can feel his brain simmering; he could fall to his knees, and Tim's abs would be firm under the soft veneer of the dress, his thighs hard in the sheer silky pantyhose. He pushes his hand down Tim's back, under the skirt, and feels satin under his fingers, the line of panties. Fuck. Wonderful, completist freakboy.

And they could do it. Dick could press his cheek to Tim's thigh and breathe. Under the lipstick and girly drinks, Dick can taste Tim; under the perfume he can smell his real warmth, a guy's smell in a good way, a mouthwatering way. Dick can feel the wall through Tim's body as he hitches him up higher and Tim's legs wrap around his waist again, as he kisses him harder, pressing his head to the wall. He spreads his hand out, tracing the tape up to its edge beneath Tim's ribs, and it peels down easily from the damp firm skin, baring a rougher scar. Dick could gently strip it away, kiss every bared inch. Half a handful's already crumpled in his palm, and Tim's cock would be hard against his cheek and smooth and silky on his tongue all the way down. Tim's shaved, of course he's shaved. How long was he planning this?

Tim bites Dick's lip, just hard enough to make him stop thinking. He's grinding against Dick's stomach, his hip moving in Dick's palm. God, he's gorgeous. Dick growls and kisses him harder, pulls him in, helps him move and remembers the pretty girl who walked into his bar in her strappy little red dress. Tim's pushing into his hand, moaning into his mouth, writhing against his abs where his shirt's pulled up and his skin's burning. Dick thought he'd have to card her, maybe gently encourage her to leave, till he recognized Tim and coughed to cover a laugh as all the regulars started falling over themselves, as 'Thelma' pushed her hair back with the same hand that's tight and strong on the back of Dick's neck.

Gorgeous girl and gorgeous guy and Dick can't let go even long enough to fall to his knees, but he could push these panties down, peel this tape off, pull down the zipper that's _killing_ him, and he knows Tim would tense and breathe and relax and let him in. He knows Tim would be hot and beautiful around him, pulling him in with the sleek legs tight around his ribs; his head would tip back and his neck arch gorgeously, his forehead creasing and his mouth softly open and trembling in time as Dick stroked him, his skirt hanging down to brush Dick's thighs. He'd be incredible, and they could---

They can't. They're _drunk_ and Dick should've let go of Tim ten minutes ago; Dick drags hmself back and Tim's eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the wall, lips parted as he gasps. He's nearly as red as his dress, damp and sweaty and mindblowingly gorgeous, and Dick needs to let go of him before they have sex against the wall beside his front door. Ill-advised, mindblowing, drunken sex. Which they can't have.

Dick pulls his hand off Tim's ass, finger by finger. "Tim, I--" He steps back, and Tim opens unfocused blue eyes and smirks at him. Dick's still gaping at that, stepping back on autopilot, when Tim slides his heel down the back of Dick's thigh and behind his knee. It's not that Dick trips, because he doesn't, but Tim wants him on the floor, so his legs fold up beneath him and Tim slides down bonelessly and lands right on Dick's searingly-tight zipper.

Tim slides his hands up Dick's shoulders while Dick's still shaking, unsure if his brain's melting or frying. Tim's hands are in his hair, fingers spreading and stroking, as he kisses Dick almost slowly. Almost langorously, licking Dick's lips and his tongue, winding his arms heavily around Dick's neck.

The effort of not leaning into the kiss makes Dick twitch all over, and Tim pulls away, settling back against the wall; Dick can feel him looking even before Tim's fingers slide down along his temples to skim over his eyes and cheekbones. "Dick?"

"Tim. Hey." Dick tries to let go and only succeeds in cupping Tim's shoulders, in petting him. Wherever he touches Tim it's hot sleek skin or hot sleek cloth. "I... We're drunk?"

"Yes, Dick, we're drunk." Tim says, slowly and evenly with a little smirk in his voice. "And I feel fine, if you were asking. Great, actually." He wiggles--- Tim _wiggles_, in his _lap_, and Dick's brain is liquid and broken at once--- and leans closer. "I want--" he stops and breathes, because he's Tim, and Dick can feel the heat of his blush like sunlight, or a flame. "I want this, if you want me to---"

Dick wants him to. God, he wants him to. But he--- "Tim?" He opens his eyes, and Tim looks exactly like himself and like he never does, eyes open and dark and ringed with smudged eyeliner that makes them even bigger. He looks... earnest. Like how he looked the second time Dick met him. And then he smiles, and he looks like the first time, the night at the circus so long ago. But he doesn't look like a kid at all, and Dick can only say, "Oh, God, whatever you want. Everything you want," and hang onto Tim like he can't let go, which he really can't.

But he can also try to think, occasionally. "C'mon," Dick manages to say, shoving his feet beneath himself and dragging them both up. "C'mon. I've got a bed, remember? We should sleep."

Tim gently headbutts his chin, staggering a little. "Mmm-hmm," he says with gentle disbelief, his hand on Dick's chest sliding dangerously lower till Dick catches it. "You feel good."

"You feel wonderful." And Dick shouldn't say that, shouldn't be so desperately hard, but at least they're on their feet. "Bed, and we can--- we can talk in the morning. After we've slept."

"Talk," Tim echoes, smugly, and he's right, but Dick has to _try_. "All right." Tim pours down onto Dick's bed, peeling off his dress and stockings in one fluid writhe, and Dick should go get another bottle of water to put by the bed, but he can only stand and watch; Tim strips off the tape fast enough to make Dick wince, and Dick should be diving into a cold shower but he stands still as Tim catches his wrist. He should be heading in another direction, there are a thousand things he could do, but Dick sinks down beside Tim, still in his shirt and jeans and socks, as Tim curls up beside him hanging onto his wrist.

Tim's quiet breathing, calm and perfectly okay, echoes in Dick's ears, reverberating down his nerves. Even so, Dick can't keep his eyes open either. The morning will be soon enough. The last thought in Dick's foundering mind is the memory of Tim swinging over a table to take out two gunmen with his high-heeled shoes; he laughs silently to himself, his pulse warm against Tim's encircling hand, and falls asleep smiling.


End file.
